Harry Potter: Dragon Eyes

Rita Skeeter had to admit, her career had taken her to some unusual places: the corridors of Azkaban, the deck of the Durmstrang ship moored in the Black Lake—even the occasional broom closet while chasing an illicit romance story.

But perching on the edge of a paperweight in the Headmistress of Beauxbatons' office, disguised as her Animagus form, surely topped all her previous adventures.

One twitch of her wings, one scuttling misstep, and she'd be discovered.

Yet the risk only made her heart flutter with exhilaration…

She had slipped inside earlier that afternoon, unnoticed in her animal form—a sleek, emerald-winged beetle—crawling through the slight gap beneath the towering double doors.

Within seconds, she'd scrambled across the polished marble floor, carefully avoiding the swish of Madame Maxime's long, voluminous robes.

The Headmistress's office was every bit as opulent as one might expect from Beauxbatons Academy: tall, arched windows framed by drapes of the deepest midnight blue, their fabric embroidered with silver stars.

'Reminds me of Dumbledore,' Rita mused, wondering what it was about the celestial motifs that seemed to draw powerful magical educators.

A half-dozen delicate rose bushes lined the walls.

The Headmistress's grand desk—heavy and carved from some unique, dark wood—stood at the far side of the circular chamber.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Rita had hopped up onto the corner of the desk, quietly tucking her legs beneath her insect body, seeking the perfect vantage point.

Her beady eyes roved over the desk's surface; various letters sealed with swirling monograms lay strewn about, along with a decorative tin of sugar biscuits and an inkstand shaped like a miniature Pegasus.

Rita watched as Madame Maxime ordered a student to fetch the French champion, then waited alongside her for the girl to come.

'Fleur Delacour. Harry Potter's girlfriend,' Rita mused with a rebellious smirk.

They had conversed in low, measured tones—something about priorities and focusing on the Tournament.

Rita, thanking Merlin for her foresight to cast the translation charm on herself, strained to pick out every nuance.

She might have hoped for an explosive confrontation—Veela temper meets overbearing Headmistress—but Fleur had kept herself in check, sounding polite yet unmistakably irritated.

Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill, stashed in a tiny pouch hung around her beetle form—shrunk to match her size—still managed to jot down the highlights in microscopic script.

Now, as she listened, Fleur's voice rose slightly, laced with tension. "…and I see no reason why my private life concerns you, Madame."

The girl's posture was rigid, but her tone—impressive, in Rita's opinion—remained controlled.

'Not just a pretty face after all,' Rita thought, surprised by Fleur's poise and feeling just a bit of envy.

Across the desk, Madame Olympe Maxime was a formidable figure indeed.

Tall beyond all conventional measure, she filled her high-backed chair so completely that it creaked whenever she shifted.

She wore elegant, sky-blue robes trimmed with ivory lace at the collar and cuffs.

Her raven hair was coiled atop her head in an intricate twist, pinned with a single rose-shaped clip.

Everything about her demeanour spoke of command and confidence.

She sat with her shoulders back, one large hand resting on a sheet of parchment detailing some upcoming banquet.

"... It would not look well for a champion of Beauxbatons to be seen dallying excessively with a student from another school," Maxime said, her deep voice resounding off the high ceiling.

'Woah. Am I about to see some feathers pop up?' Rita thought delightedly.

It was not meant to be though…

Fleur rose from the chair.

"I understand, Madame," she said, keeping her tone steady.

The headmistress gave her a nod and dismissed her.

Without another word, Fleur swept toward the door, her toned legs carrying her across with an enviable elegance.

Rita hoped for a last moment, snide remark before the girl left the room, but alas, she was destined to be disappointed today.

The door eased shut behind her with a gentle click, and the echo lingered.

'That was interesting, but not quite the scandal I was hoping for,' Rita thought, adjusting her wings.

However, before she could consider leaving, Madame Maxime let out a weary sigh and rose to her feet.

She moved to the tall windows that overlooked the castle in the distance.

"Are you satisfied, Monsieur Delacour?" Maxime said at last, her voice was low and subdued.

"You have heard your daughter's mood. She will not be easy to…influence."

Rita stilled.

'What the hell?'

Near the office's corner, something stirred in the air—a ripple, faint as a breeze passing over water.

Then the shimmering edges of a fine Invisibility Cloak slipped back, revealing a tall, elegantly attired wizard.

Sebastian Delacour.

He had proud, patrician features and short, immaculate hair of a burnished gold that matched his daughter's.

Rita's beetle eyes gleamed with utter delight.

'Such drama', she thought. 'Such scandal.'

He tossed the cloak aside and inclined his head coldly to the Headmistress.

"I heard everything."

His voice was low, each syllable perfectly enunciated.

He wore a fitted navy blue frock coat with brass buttons and a slender wand strapped at his waist.

Madame Maxime turned to face him fully.

Though he was tall by any ordinary measure, she still towered a good foot and a half above him.

"She is rebellious," Sebastian continued, stepping forward. "And far too taken with that English boy. It jeopardises our arrangement."

Maxime folded her arms across her ample chest. "She is young. Young people love to indulge in romance. But you must trust that I remain…committed to our cause."

"Commitment is one matter," Sebastian said, his tone glacial, "results are another. You forced her into entering this Tournament. I made sure the French authorities backed your demands. Now, you must ensure she wins."

Maxime's thin smile held no warmth. "I do what I can, Monsieur Delacour, but these tasks are not entirely within my domain. That meddling Dumbledore oversees much, and the other champions have proven surprisingly capable—"

"You will do more," Sebastian cut in, voice sharp. "That was our agreement—you get my political support in your future endeavours, and I get to see my daughter crowned Tri-Wizard Champion. I want no more vague promises."

Rita could hardly contain her excitement.

The only thing that stopped her from taking flight and buzzing around like crazy was… well, this story.

That was not a conversation she could ever hope to overhear, not in a million years.

She took a careful step forward across the paperweight, the better to listen.

Sebastian's gaze travelled to the desk as well, lingering on the sealed letters.

"You have resources, Maxime. Allies with influence in the International Confederation of Wizards. Connections that can shift the structure of these tasks."

The Headmistress let out a soft scoff. "And you, with your extensive network, cannot do the same?"

"In public, perhaps. But I do not want my name attached to anything so…overt. You, however, are in a perfect position to make small adjustments. The other headmasters will do the same for their own, I'm certain. Don't pretend this Tournament has always been fair. Politics seep into everything."

Maxime sniffed, affronted. "You assume a great deal. Headmaster Karkaroff is cunning, yes, but I am not certain how far he would go. And as for Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore," Sebastian said with undisguised scorn, "won't blink if it means furthering his agenda."

"Very well, Monsieur Delacour. I concede that I should do more."

She tapped her fingernails against the side of her desk, a measured staccato that echoed in the spacious office.

"But do not threaten me again. I will not tolerate intimidation and I do have my own position and reputation to uphold."

Sebastian's lips curved into a thin smile. "I merely remind you of the stakes. My reputation is also on the line. If Fleur fails to win, it shall be on your head. And that daughter of mine—Circe help her if she thinks gallivanting with that Hogwarts champion is more important than fulfilling her duty, then she has clearly misunderstood what our family stands for."

He let the words hang, menacing and heavy.

'Family stands for? More like your personal ambition,' Rita mused with scorn.

She felt a spark of satisfaction as she considered her new information.

Sebastian flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his frock coat. "I only ask that you honour what we agreed upon. If you fail to deliver, do not forget that you are indebted to me. I will not hesitate to use my influence against you."

Madame Maxime's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Nor I to expose your involvement, Monsieur Delacour. We both hold daggers to each other's throats. Let us not be foolish enough to draw blood."

Rita watched the interplay with undisguised glee.

If she could have rubbed her tiny insect legs together without making noise, she would have.

'So they're blackmailing each other. Wonderful.'

The tension between them was almost tangible, a thick wave of hostility crashing silently through the air.

At last, Sebastian drew a measured breath.

"So be it," he said, stepping away to retrieve the silvery Invisibility Cloak from the back of the chair where he'd draped it.

With practised grace, he swept the shimmering fabric over his shoulders, and in a faint swirl of motion, Sebastian pulled the cloak fully over himself.

A moment later, only a slight distortion of space indicated his presence.

Then, footfalls so light they were barely audible moved towards the door.

The handle turned, the latch clicked—and he was gone.

Madame Maxime sat in stony silence for a few heartbeats, then let out a slow, frustrated exhale.

She tapped her wand against a crystal glass on the desk, summoning water with a graceful swirl.

Lifting it to her lips, she took a long sip, her eyes closed as if in deep thought.

Finally, she murmured to herself, "I hate politics," then pushed her chair back and stood.

With a wave of her wand, the lights in the chandeliers dimmed to a gentle glow.

Maxime then followed the example of the Delacours and left the room, leaving one small, shimmering beetle alone…

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Chapter 75: Wings Clipped

Chapter 76: Tri-School Exchange

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Chapter 83: Horcrux abomination